


I don't think it needs any explaining

by Katarin



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coed NHL, Boston Bruins, F/F, Fights, Montreal Canadiens, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katarin/pseuds/Katarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Games between the Habs and the Bruins are always intense but Julie's still worked up about the last game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't think it needs any explaining

**Author's Note:**

> Set in an alternate universe where there are women in the NHL. Also set during and after the March 24, 2011 game between the [Habs](http://canadiens.nhl.com/club/recap.htm?id=2010021102) and the [Bruins](http://bruins.nhl.com/club/recap.htm?id=2010021102).
> 
> Loosely inspired by [mardia's Erica Staal fics](http://archiveofourown.org/series/17684)
> 
> Written for [pass-shoot-porn](http://pass-shoot-porn.livejournal.com/) for the prompt, "weekend party". Title from _The Weekenders_ by The Hold Steady.

Angela's known this is coming and it hasn’t made a difference. They’re all keyed up, skating like they’re on a mission, and it doesn’t mean a thing. She usually gives Julie a pretty wide berth, partly out of respect and partly because they just don’t get paired up against each other much. Julie skates on the top line and usually it’s Z and Seids shutting her down. Tonight’s a bloodbath, though, and no one is all that worried about who’s paired with who.

Julien sends her out with Z and she hasn’t been on the ice long before Julie tries to check her into the boards. She avoids it, smiling a little despite herself at how _fierce_ Jules looks. She knows Jules is friends with the American kid on her team, that they’re tight from years of playing shinny over Christmas break and playing together in Montreal. She knows all of that, but she’s kind of surprised that Jules is taking it this personally.

“Calm down, Jules,” she says, skating away. She’s honestly kind of surprised when Jules reaches out and grabs her braid in her hand. She yanks, hard, pulling Angela back - and Angela’s honestly stunned. When the fuck did Jules become fucking Burrows?

“Excuse me?” Angela says, looking over her shoulder. She doesn’t believe that just happened.

“Fuck. You,” Jules spits, teeth gritted and clearly mad as hell. She stares at Angela for a second, anger burning in her eyes; when she drops her gloves, it’s like it’s happening in slow motion.

“Are you kidding me, Chuser?" she asks, though she drops her gloves too. Angela doesn't think for a second about not doing it, because she hasn't gotten this far by backing down from a fight. It's not her first time dropping the gloves, or even her first time dancing with another female NHLer (Erica Staal was more than happy to help with that). She knows Julie's never fought before, though, unless Angela counts the scuffle from camp last year between Jules and Bells, who gives as good as she gets despite never being in the NHL. She doesn't, though, because Jules is usually too easy-going to be seriously pissed.

She's not easy-going now, though. Maybe it's that anger or maybe it's Angela underestimating her, but Julie swings hard and it connects, right on Angela's jaw. It fucking hurts; she feels her lip split and that's the last thought she gives to Jules' inexperience. She grabs hold of her jersey and jabs hard, connecting with Jules' body over and over, even getting her face a few times.

Usually, when Angela fights, she smiles because it's fun. She wins as many, if not more, fights than she loses; she even drew even with Erica the one time they fought. She's winning this fight, hands down, because Jules' anger can only take her so far, and it's not far enough to beat her. It's not fun, though, because beating her is just making her angrier.

They’re separated by the refs, and Angela skates for the box, spitting blood onto the ice on her way there. Her lip really is split to hell; that was a good punch Jules got in. The rest were shit, but the solid connect of her fist over Angela's mouth was good.

The linesman leads Jules into the Habs penalty box. Angela frowns, looking up at the scoreboard to see if she gets the extra for instigating. She doesn't. It's five minutes, coincidental and the kind of bullshit Angela would get worked up about if they weren't murdering the Habs right now. "Good fight, Jules," she shouts, tapping the glass in the penalty box, trying to get Jules' attention.

Jules turns, glaring at her. Her helmet's off and her hair is sweaty and falling out of her braid all over. Angela figures her own hair looks the same and wonders if she should just cut it all off again.

It's a quick five minutes and Jules is up and ready to go when it's up. Angela knows what she's doing. When she springs from the box and taps the ice for the puck, ready for a breakaway, Angela's right there, poke-checking the pass away and riding Jules hard into the boards. Jules shoves her off and heads back toward the play. Angela wants to follow, but Julien calls for a change, so it has to wait. They don't end up taking another shift against each other the entire rest of the game.

"No offense, Ruggie," Julien tells her, smacking her arm with his game notepad. "You know that, right?"

"Jules was a little wound up," she says, shrugging. "Not like we needed the powerplay." It isn't a big deal. Jules was out of control, and Angela doesn't exactly like punching a friend of hers because they don't have the sense not to keep coming back for it.

She waits for the rest of the team to get done with the showers and then heads there herself, washing the stink and sweat of the game off. She's rinsing shampoo out of her hair when she thinks again that she should cut it. It's so much fucking work like this. She dries off and tosses on her underwear and an undershirt so she can go back in the locker room.

At her stall, she reaches for her phone and quickly types _Cutting all my hair off y/n?_ and sends it to Jules.

 _go fuck yourself_ she gets back, while she's putting her socks on.

 _seriously?_ she texts back, because motherfuck, she doesn't need Jules being this much of a dick after the game too. She waits for the answer, avoiding putting her pants on because as soon as she does, the press will be on its way over. She doesn't mind the special treatment, preferring it to all the interviews she'd had to give in the A in her bra and underwear. She takes advantage of it sometimes, though, putting off having to face the press.

"You texting that psycho friend of yours?" Thorty asks.

Angela shrugs. "What's a couple right hooks between friends?" she asks, because she knows he'll get that.

"Not worried she's gonna poison your beer?" Marshy asks, and she throws a dirty sock at him. She's laughing with them when she catches sight of Z. He looks over at the press, talking to Timmy and then back to her.

"Dad's breaking up the party," Marshy says. Angela presses her lips together so she won’t smile or laugh.

They all split up, going silent.

As soon as she's got her pants on, the media heads over, asking all the questions she'd been expecting. "I know Chu really well," she tells them. "We played together in college and we just won a medal together last year in Vancouver. Everyone loses their temper, it wasn't that big of a deal."

"You didn't take another shift against her afterward, though," Hags says.

Angela shrugs and smiles. "Not like we needed the powerplay. I'll have to talk to Z, he's making the rest of the blue line look bad."

"So there's no hard feelings between you and Chu?" someone else asks.

"Not at all," she says. She manages not to roll her eyes, but she does shrug again. "She lost her temper, wanted to spark her team, and I came out the better. No reason to hold a grudge."

There's a few more leading questions. Some are obviously reaching for quotes to turn into a 'catfight' story, but there are a lot of good ones too. She breaks down of her better defensive plays and talks about getting to play with Z and Seids that night When she's done, she grabs for her jacket and checks her phone.

 _fucking bitch_ , the first missed text says.

 _and yes, cut your fucking hair_ , the second one says. She received it a while after, though, long enough for Jules to have grabbed a shower and calm down a little.

 _hurry up and dress, princess_ , she texts back, knowing Jules will get that she wants hang out. She knows where to meet her if she's up for it.

 _one of us is waiting for the other to finish giving quotes to those hacks in your locker room_ , Jules sends back. Angela grins and hurries up. They always meet in the same place after games - in the Garden, at the Bell Center, it doesn't matter. When Angela turns the corner, Jules is leaning against a column, arms folded in front of her.

She's in a suit. It's one of the ones that's way more stylish than anything Angela owns, but her shirt has the top two buttons unbuttoned and her tie is undone. Jules' hair is still wet, and she's pulled back in a twist that really draws attention to the nasty bruise already forming over her eye and cheek.

"Hell of a shiner," Angela says, smiling. It's the wrong thing to say, though, because Jules' face goes tight, which makes her wince.

"We going?" she asks. Angela nods, following her toward the player's exit. As they walk, Jules adds, "That short asshole with the nose tried to pick me up while I was waiting."

"He was probably serious," Angela says, because that's just like Marshy, to hit on a girl after she tries to kill someone.

“That just makes it worse,” Jules says. They get into Angela’s car and Jules fucks around with her iPod.

“Think of your kids, though,” Angela says.

“Keep it up if you want to spend the night cleaning vomit out of your front seat,” Jules says.

Angela's not sure how serious she is, so she shuts up. They spend the rest of the drive in silence, and it isn’t long before Angela’s pulling into her parking spot at her apartment.

They go to the bar around the corner from Angela’s place. It’s not the one she goes to with the boys, or even when she’s alone. It’s the one she mostly thinks of as their bar, because she almost only ever comes here with Jules. They have a couple of beers as they watch St. Louis murder Edmonton on the television on the other side of the bar.

“Thanks for coming out,” she says, once she’s had enough to drink that she’s feeling brave.

“Where else am I going to get Sea Dog?” Jules says, shrugging. She’s leaning back against the bar, sipping her beer and not looking at Angela.

“Anywhere else in New England or Quebec?” Angela says. Jules laughs and then winces.

“Maybe I just really like this shithole bar you always take me to, then,” Jules tells her, voice strained like it almost never is.

Angela wants to take back saying anything. She wants Jules to loosen the fuck up and be like she usually is. Jules is usually the one person she can depend on to keep it light, even if her team did just get pounded.

“C’mon, Jules,” she says.

Jules tightens her hand around her bottle. “He could’ve fucking died,” she says.

Angela tries not to roll her eyes, because she gets that it’s serious, but fuck - she’s over it. It’s been sixteen straight days of this shit, and she didn’t think Jules would be like this too.

“Yeah, but he didn’t,” she says.

Jules tightens her grip around her glass for a second before shoving it away and storming out.

Angela swears under her breath and throws money on the bar, hurrying to follow Jules out. She’s heading for the street corner, probably getting ready to hail a cab. Angela hates that she has to run after her, but she does.

She grabs hold of her shoulder, pulling her away from the street and back against the wall of the building. “You’re seriously pissed at me for something that happened weeks ago, in a game, when I wasn’t even the one who did it?”

“Fuck yourself, Angie,” Jules says, squirming to get away. “You didn’t help carry him off the ice. You didn’t have to talk to his mom and tell her he’d be okay.”

“What do you want?” Angela asks. She shoves in close, pressing Jules into the wall. “You want me to say I’m sorry he got hurt? Of fucking course I am, Jules. He’s just a kid and shit like that sucks. When Savvy-”

She cuts herself off and looks down, biting her split lip to keep control over her face. “I’m sorry, okay? But it’s not my fucking fault, and I don’t see why you’re on my ass about this.”

“You don’t get it,” Jules says.

And she’s right, Angela doesn’t. Angela doesn’t play big sister to any of the kids on the team, and she doesn’t go home to meet their families or help their girlfriends plan their wedding. Jules is alone in that.

“You’re right,” she says.

Jules looks up at her, frowning. She licks her lips, brows knit like she’s trying to figure out how to say something. It reminds Angela of back in college, when Jules would lean into her at the parties after games on the weekend, and after the Olympics and Worlds. She smells like beer, and she’s keyed up, and the only difference here is that she’s angry instead of happy.

Angela isn’t sure if it’s right, but she goes with what’s worked in the past and leans in to press her mouth against Jules’. She’s tentative at first, unsure, but Jules kisses right back. She leans into Angela and reaches out to rest one hand on Angela’s side, shoving up her shirt so she’s stroking skin.

“Fuck, Jules,” Angela says. “Why didn’t you just-”

She’s cut off by Jules leaning back in to kiss her. Except Jules bites down on her split lip this time, making Angela wince and groan. So maybe it's not exactly like college or when they play together, then.

Jules pulls her close, sliding her hand up her side. They’re in public, right out in the open, and it’s not like either of them doesn’t stand out right now - but Angela kind of doesn’t care.

Jules is the first to roll her hips forward, arching into Angela. And, hell, if they’re going this far, why not just say _fuck it_ entirely? She reaches down, presses her hand against Jules’ belly for a second before moving down. The button on those stupidly nice pants is harder to handle than the jeans Jules usually wears, but Angela manages, fumbling it open and shoving her hand inside.

She’s already wet; Angela can feel her over her panties. She takes a second, just teasing over the soft cotton before Jules bites her again. It hurts. Angela reaches into her underwear and presses one finger inside, all at once.

This isn’t the most comfortable way to do this. Her hand is going to cramp pretty soon, and they’re _still_ outside - but Jules lets out a gasp, straining toward her, and it’s a good enough reason to keep going.

“Jules,” she says, thumb against her clit as she slides another finger inside of her. She has to use her other hand to do it, and Jules spreads her legs as much as she can, arching down and then up. 

“C’mon,” Jules says, fingers tightening on Angela’s side. It’s fucking awkward and she can hear someone across the street. When Angela looks up at Jules' face, though, her eyes are closed and her head’s tipped back against the wall, hair falling out of her twist. She’s still got the shiner, but even that looks good, like it belongs there even though Juls is the last person to get in a fight. Jules shudders, clenching around her fingers - and she looks so fucking beautiful that Angela leans in to kiss her again, not caring if she gets bitten for her trouble.

Jules is still shuddering when she opens her eyes, looking back at Angela for a long second before smiling. “Not bad, Ruggie,” she says and Angela rolls her eyes.

“Think you could do better?” she asks.

“Take me back to your place,” Jules tells her, shrugging. “And we’ll see.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just as an FYI, in this hypothetical universe, in 2011, Angela Ruggiero would've become the first American woman in the Triple Gold Club. I put Angela and Julie on the Bruins and Habs based on the CWHL teams they play for (Blades and Stars)


End file.
